Omlette du Fromagge
by FlowerofAdversity
Summary: Note: A Talladega Nights inspired fanfic about my love for Jean Girard. Takes place during the events of the film. Lots of angst later too, but hope remains flickering in the distance like a heralding beacon. “Why is there no jazz musique in ze Pitsto


Note: A Talladega Nights inspired fanfic about my love for Jean Girard. Takes place during the events of the film. Lots of angst later too, but hope remains flickering in the distance like a heralding beacon.

"Why is there no jazz musique in ze Pitstop ?"--Jean, Talladega Nights

Chapter 1—Lost In Those Dark Eyes

Ever since I had heard of Jean Girard and seen his photo, I had experienced the worst crush I could ever possibly get on another human being. I already knew he was gay, since I had seen him with his partner, Gary. But, whenever I saw him after a race, I turned into a blithering idiot and couldn't even gather the courage to shout "I love you" ! He was the _only_ reason I had decided to start watching NASCAR and even going beyond that to _participating_ in the races.

This was my breaking point. I had finally reached a level of insanity I never wanted to breech again, but this was love. I knew what love was and I knew how unlucky I was in it. But that wouldn't stop me from getting the courage to actually talk to Monsigniuer Girard.

At the end of one race when Jean had been victorious, I went up to speak to him. I knew only conversational French but I decided to impress him with it. I told him I wanted to have lunch with him and I was surprised he accepted. At long last I would be able to be alone with him, and if I was very lucky, maybe I could just touch his hand lightly. He wouldn't even notice that, and I wasn't being too forward.

We had lunch al fresco, which to be honest, I adored doing. In France, they have a past time called "people watching", and I already did that in my every day life.

"You're a lot more European than I thought you would be. Are you sure you're American ?", Jean questioned. It was exactly what I wanted to hear. I considered that to be a compliment.

"Yes, I am American, but I haven't lost my European roots entirely, thank Heaven.", I answered. I noticed he was reaching for a pat of butter and I did so at the same time. His artistic hand, though masculine, was soft as satin. I didn't expect to blush, but my cheeks became flushed.

"I hope I'm not boring you on my talk of racing. It's my life. But one day, if Ricky Bobby beats me, I will retire so I can live the rest of my life with my husband.", Jean said, with a dreamy, far away smile. I stared at him for a bit, and he didn't notice, until he looked back at me, grinning brilliantly. My cheeks turned maroon.

"Oh, not at all, Jean. I have a friend who is a racer, in fact. He's not professional but he was finally able to get back on the track. I have high hopes for him.", I said, my smile stretching from ear to ear. Fairly soon, we finished our meal, topped off our drinks and said our goodbyes.

But, I wasn't expecting a hug from him. I nearly melted in his strong, yet, tender embrace.

I felt like the luckiest woman alive.

"Go on, say it ! Say it !", my conscience practically screamed at me. But, the words "I love you" wouldn't dare pass my cherry lips. I grumbled internally and could see images of my conscience with an 'L' across her forehead. I sighed, knowing it wasn't my real conscience that would do that but my lack of self-esteem and low self-confidence level. Now wasn't the time to beat myself up.

"Au revoir, mon ami.", I said, almost on the verge of tears. I also wasn't the type to cry, but I felt defeated. Yet, I knew I wasn't. I would have more opportunities to see him; and I wasn't about to give up.

Chapter 2—Girard At the Movies

Though sticking to my diet, I was having a lot of French inspired recipies as of late. But the only French I really desired was Jean. I knew that sounded perverted in my mind, and I wasn't a pervert at all. I was simply a normal, healthy, 26-year-old woman that was insane with love, and again with someone I couldn't possibly have to love me back. To me, it didn't matter though. I simply finished a scrumptous omlette du fromagge I had made. I had also put little ham cube cutlettes in it and had a cup of extremely hot Earl Grey. Not knowing I had slipped into a British accent, I had taken my retired father off guard.

"Are you sure you're my daughter ?", he questioned, curiously raising an eyebrow. If he had begun speaking with his German accent, I would've started laughing furiously.

"Of course, I am, Father. Who else ? What is it ! You're giving me that accusing look again !", I said, feeling guilty.

"I've noticed you have a lot of posters in your room of Jean Girard. You even took down your Steve Irwin poster. That's not like you. I know you're a huge fan of his, rest his soul.", father said, astutely. Father didn't go into my room often, unless he wanted to lecture me about the importance of something in everyday life. I could sense another lecture coming.

"I'm aware of that father. I hate to say this but I am in love.", I bit my lower lip when the last words had left my mouth. Father became slightly agrivated.

"In love, hmmm ? Well, I'm leaving it to you to figure it out. I support you no matter what and so does your mother.", Father said. I knew I would be going it alone when I went to another NASCAR race this weekend. I was out of my element there. It wasn't that I didn't like rednecks or couldn't tolerate them. I just knew I wasn't one of them and I didn't fit in. But at least I enjoyed Blue Collar Comedy, so there was one common thread to keep us from punching each others lights out as a last resort as well as insults and name calling.

After the race I had gone to, I decided to go to a movie theatre in town that was playing a film I was really looking forward to seeing. It was called _All The Kings Men_. Of all the people I'd see, Jean was there. He was sitting alone, and he hadn't noticed my presence. The lights were low and I sneaked in to take a seat next to him. I casually placed my hand on his and he then realized he wasn't alone.

"Who is there ?", he questioned, unafraid.

"It's me, Elizabeth.", I replied, innocently.

"I know who you are. What is it now ? The film is about to begin.", Jean said, becoming a little irritated.

"I want to talk with you after the movie is over.", I said quietly as the rest of the previews began to wrap up.

"Very well. I'll allow you in my trailer, if you wish to see it.", Jean offered, gently removing my hand from his. I smiled generously and almost squealed. I couldn't believe he trusted me enough to allow me into his trailer, but I was a lady. I wouldn't do anything to contradict my morals or do anything I would come to regret. But the fact I would be in such close confines had sent my mind practically reeling. However, I managed to remain calm and garner courage to tell him how I really felt.

After the movie ended, Jean led me to his trailer. We would again enjoy dinner, and I didn't realize he could cook. He was quite the chef, and I thought I had died and gone to heaven when I had some dessert crepes he had made seemingly so without effort.

"So, what is it you wanted to tell me ?", Jean said, in a deep, reassuring voice. His voice alone made me shake somewhat.

"I've been wanting to tell you this for a while now, but you'll probably just laugh.", I said, my eyes starting to become slightly wet with the onset of tears. I fought them back as tenaciously as I could and I would not catch myself crying. Especially not in front of Jean.

"Well, out with it, lady ! Your use of suspense is killing me !", Jean said, chuckling. That was awfully rare to see Jean laugh. He was usually so serious and competitive.

"I love you. I can't help it, I can't fight it. I only come to NASCAR races to watch you and just to see your handsome face on that large screen. Now I'm almost broke...", I said, bravely reaching out to grasp his hands.

"I don't want to hurt you but you know I'm a married man. I know your affection is genuine. But I admire you for coming out and telling me how you felt, Elizabeth.", Jean said, tenderly removing my hands from his. He brought me close for a hug.

"Listen, ma chere, you'll find someone who will love you, and he will be such a lucky young man, but just forget about me. You can still be a fan of mine and a friend.", Jean said. I enjoyed being in his embrace for a while, the nearly intoxicating scent of English Leather on his skin.

I sighed and smiled. We didn't say much more other than goodbye and that was the last I saw him.

Chapter 3—Jean's Retirement

Although I had spent many days crying and away from the high-paced world of NASCAR, I had been reading about Jean, and we had been corresponding by email. I had a difficult time of it though because if I saw pictures with Jean with Gary I began sobbing. I usually didn't sob about losing love, but sadly, I was distraught. Life was not looking up for me and I had begun to lose all hope. I discussed to him how I wanted to die, and I hadn't talked about death in ages.

Jean became extremely worried. So, he sent me a heartfelt letter. It read,

"Ma chere, please don't go through with even uttering another word about suicide. It is inconsionable that you would even consider it, seeing how spectacularly intelligent you are. Please, promise me you won't hurt yourself. If it is any consolation, maybe if I come and see you that will help you feel better. But I can't remain long. Gary says he wants to meet you. He says you must be incredible. I told him he didn't know how right he was. Although we are in France, we will have souveniers for you. I know how fond you are of foreigners. Ha ha ha ! Can you believe, I just made a joke ! Get back to me soon though, please, ma chere. Yours truly, Jean Girard."

I wrote him a letter and before I knew it I was getting calls from Mr. Girard and I met Gary for the first time. I had many gay friends before so I didn't see a thing wrong with him. Mom and dad were comfortable with him around the house and he even complimented mom and myself on our supper. I was just learning how to cook, but thus far, all my meals had been sumptous and I hadn't burned one thing yet.

"You just might become four-star quality like your mama.", Gary said, adding a girlish laugh. His laugh got me tickled.

After the dinner came presents. I was still feeling a bit down, and I felt like screaming or starting to cry again but I was able to hold everything together. Jean gave me the official jacket he had worn during his time in NASCAR. He wasn't going to until he had read my letter and decided to make a visit to my home town. There was French food and a beautiful French doll that he said was the perfect replica of me, if I had been born French. I laughed and my eyes began to tear.

"Jean, you have been the nicest friend to me, and bless you for it. Now if I get sad, I'll just hold on to Isabella and she'll keep me company.", I said, gently embracing my meticulously made rag doll.

"I knew you two would be instant friends.", Gary said, grinning. The couple had been so generous to me and I had nothing with which to repay them. But they had said, our hospitality had been enough for them. They had to return to France but I knew I would never be alone again, nor would I be sad. At least my angst had melted away. It would take time for my heart to heal, but time heals all wounds.

Epilogue

I overcame my girlish crush on Jean Girard and remained a good friend of his. My room structure has changed now. Sure I still have my posters, but my Steve-O poster has replaced the former Girard poster I had taped on my closet. I had come to the realization that I had to face the actual world and do some more maturation. Feeling I had come so far already, I felt a sense of accomplishment and I knew I had made progress. Now I simply take one day at a time. Granted, I do still get that sense of lonliness every person on the planet faces at one point and time among other countless emotions. Yet, I am conscious of the strides I have made. I know who I am, and I know where I am going, and I have friends by my side all the way.

Besides, I learned along the way, and I have been enriched. Truly, life is about education, becoming a better person and inspiring others...and I have only begun to do that.

I may just be in the process of becoming an eggceptional omlette du fromagge. I am not a

complete recipe yet, but some day, I shall be, and that is what I aim for.

Rantings from Elizabeth B.

September 26, 2006


End file.
